We Are Fallen
by Sarah Rose Serena
Summary: She finds herself in a dark motel room. The only sound to disturb the quiet of death is the relentless pounding of the storm that rages outside. How did she get here? How did she let it go this far? More importantly, will he wait for her to heal?


**We Are The Fallen**

_A Short Story_

_From Sarah Rose Serena_

"_The days after were dark and lifeless. I almost watched you let yourself die. But it's not too late to save you this time. I'll ask you — Trust me. Blind me. Love me. You bury me alive, again and again. We have to breathe somehow. And you don't care. But I forgive you. Just don't leave me behind so that you can die, too consumed by your own emptiness and lies. Give me your hand and I'll give you a promise. I will see you through the darkness."_

**Exordium**

On Day One, sunrise came like an ending. Orange rays of change streaked across the inky sky, setting fire to the darkness. It spread an irreversible resignation through the girl that watched it. It was as if the night's departure made this true, as if this was the point where all that had happened cemented into reality — permanent, undeniable, and everlasting. It made her want to cry. If only she wasn't too exhausted to sob. If only her ducts had any tears left to shed. If only she hadn't used up all of her emotion so soon. If only she didn't feel so lifeless, as if she had died with the rest of them back there . . . the ones she loved.

The motel she'd found herself in was one of those ten-cabin lodges that lined the crooks and crannies of the highway, the ones that warded off all but the desperate of travelers. She couldn't say for sure how she'd gotten here, only that she'd woken on a bed that smelled faintly of sweat and mud, while scents of cigarette smoke and bleach warred through the rest of the tiny room. The bedspread was an eyesore, no more so than the rest of the room, though, and scratched against her flesh like irritated ant bites.

The enclosure was dark, other than for a sickly red-hued light that was casting through the edges of the shadows. Small space, cheap industrial carpeting, a large window that spanned the outer wall with its heavy drapes drawn securely shut. A piece of imitation wood masquerading as a dresser directly across from the foot of the bed with a dollar store mirror hung above, hiding gray-colored wallpaper that was peeling from all directions. The door by the window had to be the exit. The one opposite must have been the bathroom. One bed, a queen-sized with a marble-shaded headboard that was cool to the touch. More imitation wood, this time two nightstands that framed either side with a lamp and an old-fashioned telephone — one of those bulky ones that someone might bash in a skull with.

Other than for the broken girl on the lumpy mattress, the place was empty. The noise that penetrated her dank cave from outside was, distantly, from the interstate. This hideout was in a stretch of Middle of Nowhere. So the road wasn't busy. The hushed rush of a car or two would stream past every now and then. Otherwise, the world was unsettlingly silent. Much like the girl herself was at the moment, much like she quite possibly might be from now on. The longer she could put off thinking of that, the better.

She hadn't been alone when she'd lost consciousness. And she hadn't been here, either. Where the vampire had gone, she couldn't think of. The possibility that he'd dumped her here and taken off crossed her mind, momentarily at least. It was surprising that there was no resultant panic at the thought, only more of the same stillness. It didn't matter, anyway. Somewhere deep down in there, a logical part of herself remained, and that sliver of living girl was certain that he hadn't left her behind. After all, why would he have gone through all he did to save her, to take her away, if he was only going to abandon her now?

Either way, there was nothing worth getting up for now. Her body, her mind, there was no desire to ever move again. So, against the empty room and the quiet of death, the girl lowered herself back down and shut her eyes again. It was as easy as that for the darkness to swallow her whole . . . for what undoubtedly would not be the last time.

: : :

It was nearly midnight, the official beginning of Day Two before he finally returned to her. The vampire was laden with shopping bags when he slipped through the door to Cabin 7 and into the stale shadow of the girl's hovel. He hadn't left her, though it had occurred to him that that's what she would think if she woke while he was out. But there were things that needed to be taken care of — items they'd need, information he'd needed to know, not to mention a decent car that had to be acquired so they wouldn't be stranded. The last one had just about reached its limit, and it was recognizable. He'd had to ditch it quickly. Not that he was certain they'd be followed. But precaution kept them alive.

There was a small tripod table situated beneath the shuttered window with two hardback chairs. He dropped the supplies in a pile on the floor beneath the table and shrugged off his jacket, cringing as he peeled the sticking leather from his skin. Dry flakes of crusted blood smattered the floor around his feet as he tossed the jacket across the arch of one of the chairs. Wanting to do what needed to be done before anything else, knowing once he stopped for a moment he might be lost for quite awhile, the vampire pulled out the two duffels he'd bought and began stuffing the new clothes from the shopping bags inside. The emergency supply of donor's blood he'd swiped from the Red Cross Center twenty miles back went into a small cooler he'd picked up.

He packed away the odds and ends, then he pulled out the paper bags of fast-food and dropped them on the nightstand by her head, hoping the smell of grease and salt would pull her back. She hadn't eaten in over 26 hours. Not a bite or a sip of fluid. She'd be encumbered by dehydration soon enough. Hopefully, then she'd come to and square herself away. She'd been worryingly zombie-like since they'd left Home, and he just didn't know what to do with her. For him, well, he could shut out all that negative weight that wanted to drown him. But it was different for her. There was no switch she could flip to turn off emotion, memory, humanity. It wasn't impossible, in fact it was what she was trying to do, but it wasn't a simple achievement either. In fact, she just might kill herself trying. And then everything would have been for nothing.

The vampire stood by the edge of the bed and gazed down at the resting girl for a long moment, listening to the sluggish beat of her heart and the faint pumping of her blood. The rhythm of her breathing was so weak that he had to focus in order to notice it. It seemed that her system was beginning to shut down, as if she were already traversing the process of death. Physically, there was nothing wrong with her. The regenerative properties of his blood had healed all of her wounds as soon as he'd forced it down her throat the day before. For all intents and purposes, she should be in perfect health. But she wasn't, because as he'd expected, she was killing herself . . . by sheer force of will.

At long last, the vampire gave a troubled sigh and turned away. There was nothing he could do for her at this moment. He could only wait and hope an opportunity presented itself soon enough. Until then, he'd deal with the mess of himself.

He retreated inside the cramped box of a washroom, and after stripping away the ruins of his clothing, he switched on the faucet, forced the temperature as hot as it was capable of before he stepped into the shower's stall and let the spray of scalding water pelt across his unnaturally chilled flesh.

: : :

"Why didn't you stay with her?" she asked out of the blue, breaking the heavy sound of silence that had gripped them for the last seven hours. "I know it's what you wanted."

The vampire tipped the bottle of bourbon in his hand up to his mouth once more as he contemplated her words. He hadn't moved from the hardback chair in the corner since he'd returned from the liquor store. That was an hour before sunup. She hadn't stirred since long before that. "I couldn't let you die." _I couldn't let her take you._

She was still laying there the way she'd been for two days straight — partly on her side, partly on her back, one arm wrapped around her middle, the other hidden beneath the pillow. There was no expression in her face, her eyes, her voice, her body, even her heartbeat lacked life. Yet she wanted to know "Why?"

Unmoving from his spot in the corner, shrouded in the shadows of the room, the vampire let out a weary sigh. He wished his brother were here. Little Brother would know what to do with her. This vampire himself had no idea. "You know why."

She considered that for a moment. "Because you love me," she said in a hollow voice that would have made him ache a few days ago.

"Yes." What point was there in denying it? They were long past a time when it would have mattered.

A moment passed them by, and he thought she was gone again, until her eyes opened and found his for the first time since they'd left Home. The warm glow of her hazel irises had dulled, leaving a dead stare that felt untouchable to him. "You should have let her kill me," she told him, then rolled onto her other side, putting her back to him. A second later she was gone again — hidden in the quiet depths of herself.

He sat for another hour, nursing his bottle. When she finally turned back to him, she was in the midst of a fitful sleep. Moved to action, he set the bourbon aside and rose from his seat to close the few short feet of distance between them and crouch by the edge of the bed. His eyes ran over her face, taking in the grim set of her mouth, the depleted line of her throat, the deep crease that marred her brow. And his hand came up, reached out, only to freeze a moment later. Dirty tendrils of her dark hair had fallen into her face, itching at her closed eyelids, curving like snakes around her neck. He wanted to brush them aside. He wanted to rouse her. He wanted to feel the press of her flesh against his, as clammy and grime-coated as she was, and know that it was worth it. But it didn't matter . . . because he just couldn't bring himself to touch her.

: : :

"I can take the pain away," he promised. The whisper of his voice was cracked and slurring, a testament to the six emptied bottles of hard liquor piled around the legs of his chair. "All you have to do is say _yes_."

Dusk was on the way, and the temperature outside had pivoted into icy winds territory in preparation for a night of thunderstorms. She'd been awake for a few hours now, technically. Though she'd yet to open her eyes or move a muscle, he knew as well as she did that sleep was no longer part of the equation. Still, she couldn't bring herself to stir. But she did think over his words. _Take my pain away_. She knew what he meant by that. There were really only two options, and he'd be considering them both.

He could make her forget, put that supernatural hypnosis of his to good use and compel away all the misery inside of her. Only . . . it didn't really work that way. She knew as well as he did that he couldn't make her feel _right_ again. He couldn't fill that empty void. He could only will away the knowledge of why it was there. _Or_ he could Change her — feed her more of his blood, snap her neck, and let her rise as one of his Kind. Then she would be able to deal with it the way he did. She could just shut out that broken part of herself. She could lock away all that made her want to lay there in the dark and wither out of existence. _He can make me feel alive again._

That's what he was asking her for. That's what he wanted. And she wished she could say _yes_. She wished, more than anything, that she could let him do that for her. But she couldn't. She just . . . _couldn't_. She had no idea why, even, only that she knew what she needed to do. She couldn't let him fix her. She had to deal with this herself. If she told him _yes_, she'd be cheating. And maybe she'd be able to shut out her humanity, turn off all that mattered, but there would always be some part of herself that knew what she'd given up, what she'd done, how easy she'd gotten off, how undeserving she was. That piece of herself would eat away at her until she was right back here where it all started.

"No," she said at last. "You can't."

: : :

The girl turned her back on him again as soon as he came through the door, rolling over to the other end of the bed and curling up with all the obstinate anger of her old self. She knew what he wanted and she wasn't in the mood. If only he'd just _go away_.

"Please," he begged with another of those weary sighs. His breath no longer carried the stench of whiskey, but rather a fresh scent of spearmint that pointed out to her just how dirty and haggard she was. "You have to eat something."

The rustling of the paper bags he'd brought in with him was drowned out by the sudden clash of thunder. He'd opened the drapes before he'd gone out, so the bright flashes of lightning lit up the dreary room every other couple of minutes. Now that he was back, he was soaked to the bone. His clothes hung heavily on his sinewy form, dripping thick spots of water into the cheap carpet as he hovered over her. The pointed tips of his ebony hair were sticking to his alabaster skin — the curve of his neck, the edges of his face, the line of his brow — drenched and messy. He came around to her and the sight of him in this state threatened to awaken something — a feeling, small but niggling — a familiar sense of longing. It used to make her feel guilty. After all, she wasn't supposed to be attracted to this one. It was his brother she had loved. Now, though, there was no guilt . . . only the sickness in her stomach.

As he dug into one of the bags and pulled out a wrapped hamburger, he shook the dripping spikes of hair out of his eyes and knelt down beside the bed. "Here, take this."

"Leave me alone," she implored with a flatly foreign voice.

Her words made his jaw clench, a muscle in his cheek tensing noticeably with it. When he spoke, it was through his teeth. "Just as soon as you nourish yourself, I will."

It was then that he held the burger out for her like a peace offering. But she only glared in return. They waited there that way for an indeterminable amount of moments before he finally retracted the offering with a quiet _huff_. He tossed it carelessly onto the nightstand and rose to his feet, stalking away from her. She thought he'd given up, and was satisfied, but before she had a chance to close her eyes again, he was back.

"You're going to take this whether I have to force it down your throat or not," he snapped, then shoved his arm underneath her shoulders and jerked her upright, pulling a startled yelp from the girl. "I'm tired of playing games with you."

She was ready to be assaulted with greasy meat, but in his hand was only a plastic bottle of spring water. Her throat had been aching for days. She couldn't quite say why she hadn't eased it with all of the fluids he'd been pushing on her, only that she hadn't. Now, though, the mouth of the bottle was jammed between her chapped lips and upended as he forced her head back. The feel of the cold liquid's flow — over her tongue, down her throat, through her chest — was almost a sort of glorious relief. But then it faded, and she was left with the dullness of detachment again.

The vampire's hold on her gentled considerably then. He shifted until he was perched on the very edge of the bed, keeping her in his lap. Her back pressing into him was something tangible and present. It was almost pleasant even. As it was, the closeness of her, the physical proof of her here with him, soothed that roiling that had been plaguing him all of these endless days.

"Happy?" she groused. The sentiment was faint, tired, but definitively _existent_ in her disgruntled voice.

He stroked a hand through her hair as he'd wanted to for the last ten hours, and curved his other arm around her to push back the bottle she was trying to hand off to him. "Keep going."

"I'm fine."

He cupped his hand over hers and made her cradle the water closely. "Do as I say."

There was a moment of hesitation there that had him sure he was in for another battle. But, eventually, she let out a soft sigh and tipped the bottle up a bit against her lips, sipping infinitesimally. In the following seconds, he felt a breath of relief wash over when she melted into him, molding until she had his body completely blanketing hers. He took her weight and held still, listening to the soft rhythm of her heartbeat while she drank. He knew if she had too much too fast after going so long without any that she'd throw up. But he didn't warn her. He was just glad she was drinking. Besides, at least that would finally get her out of bed . . . hopefully.

: : :

By morning, the storm was still raging. The sky was still dark. And the two of them were right back where they'd started — he in the chair with another bottle of whiskey and she in bed with her eyes held fiercely shut. After she'd finished the water, she'd let the empty bottle roll off the bed and onto the floor as her body turned limp again. She'd extricated herself from his arms, crawled to the other side of the mattress, and collapsed into a worthless heap. She'd been shaking, ever so slightly, as if even that bit of life he'd forced on her was more than she could take.

"I won't ask again," he'd told her. "If you don't pull yourself out of this, I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands. So if that's not what you want, then you'd better show me that you can survive on your own." And he'd meant it, then and now. But she hadn't said a word. She hadn't reacted in the slightest. Nevertheless, he knew she'd heard him. He was only waiting to see what she'd do about it.

He was half hoping that she'd force his hand. If she gave him an excuse, he could have her — always and forever — and she'd be okay again. Well, okay in the sense that _he_ was okay — the manageable sort of sense. They could make it through this storm. No pun intended. If that were the case, he was certain they would. But if she didn't want the Change, and he forced it on her, would she resent him for that for the rest of her life? Or would she understand? Would she be grateful? Could he risk it? _Yes_.

Yes, he could, because he'd never truly been alone before. All those years, even if he'd spent them hating his brother, he'd known that the other was always out there. They'd had each other. As masochistic as that relationship had been, they were bonded by blood, and they were never completely alone in the world.

Now . . . everything was different. This broken girl, this girl he loved, this girl that had lost everything, she was the only thing he had left. He wouldn't — _couldn't_ — lose her. No matter what she wanted, whether she wanted to be lost or not, that wasn't something he could allow. And this couldn't go on for much longer. He wouldn't sit here and watch her waste away. They couldn't stay here that long, anyway. They needed to get moving. So, one way or the other, there was a decision to be made. Whether it was _his_ or _hers_ had yet to be seen.

: : :

Was there someone out there that understood what this felt like? Did another soul exist that had suffered this way? Someone who had survived the experience of an irrevocable hole being torn through their world? If so, where could she find them? And was there any comfort in that kinship?

The sun had risen a few hours ago, but it was still hidden by the thick layer of thunderclouds that coated the sky. The strokes of lightning had slowed, and with them the rolling claps of thunder had quieted, but the rainfall still pelted with an unforgiving force and the wind still hissed and howled outside the window of their motel room.

The manager — masquerading as the cleaner — had come to the door not twenty minutes earlier, dragging the housekeeper's cart behind him. He was sent away by a drunken vampire who'd spent the night brooding something fierce.

The steady soundtrack of pounding rain carried on outside as the girl's thoughts drew to Home. She recalled the house she'd grown up in, and all sensory memory of the structure was overtaken by the burnt rubble she knew now smoldered in its place. Her home was nothing more than ash. All in one night, she'd lost every material belonging she'd ever collected over her seventeen years of life, the man she loved, and all that had remained of her family.

The angry lick of flame lashed across her awareness, and she could still feel the press of that heat, weighing down on her like infinite tons of an ocean, surrounding her, threatening to tear her apart at the seams. Blindingly bright shades of orange and red were bleeding into one another, swallowing the colors of her house. She could still feel the seizure of her lungs as she inhaled the smoke, thicker than that glass of the windows that were shattering around her. The blood that had been spilt — not yet to even coagulate — began to boil in puddles across the floor. The scars it had left along the ceramic wall of the kitchen were eaten up by the wildfire. The burn was so quick, flames leapt out at her from the inside of the walls and above the ceiling, boxing her in as if she were Alice trapped in the White Rabbit's cottage, suddenly ten sizes too big for the house around her.

All of that was nothing, though, in comparison to the screams that filled her ears. Not hers, but the ones from upstairs, the ones from outside, the ones from the kitchen. She would have walked through all of those walls of fire a hundred times over if it meant she would never have to hear those screams again.

Her Aunt and Uncle had been the first two to go. There was no way she could have prevented it. She was simply _too late_. She'd found their bodies amidst the bloody mess of her kitchen when she'd returned home for the evening. Her Brother was next, her Love after that, and somehow between the devastation of shock, grief, and the realization — the acceptance that she too was going to die — she'd been saved.

What was she to say now, _thank you_? _You shouldn't have_? No. Those words would be a lie. _Just go away. I don't want you here. Please, just leave me. _That was more like it. Still a lie, yet _more like it_ nonetheless.

The only thing that could make this any worse was for him to _not_ be here. _To be alone_, she thought. Though, that was probably what she deserved, what was right, what was fair. They were all gone now, taken from her permanently, and she was here — with the brother of the vampire she claimed was the love of her life — wanting to hold on to him more than anything else in the world — wanting to let him make her feel alive again.

She didn't even know what happened, how it had ended, how they'd gotten away. She had no idea how her friends were or what state the town was in when they'd fled. She should ask him. But she won't. The fear was too overwhelming. If it could get any worse, she didn't want to know. That was why she went on lying there. Went on with her struggle to will the world away. Went on pretending she could stay this way forever.

: : :

The dawn of Day Four brought more of the same storm. It had rested throughout the day and night, splicing brief reprieves at far-spaced intervals, but by the break of daylight it had returned with an intensity it hadn't previously possessed.

Sometime during the night, the vampire had passed out in his hardback chair — his feet propped up on the corner of the table, his arms crossed — and the girl had dragged herself up against the cold headboard and munched painstakingly at the stale burger that had set on her nightstand for the last 24 hours. She hadn't been able to finish it, but she gave herself points for trying, and at least it eased the ferocious headache that had been draining her for so long. After a long swig of water from one of the many bottles he'd left on the bedside table, she'd stripped out of her clothing and climbed beneath the covers as the rain continued to pour.

When the vampire finally stirred from his alcohol-induced slumber, he was no less inebriated than he'd been the night before. It gave him a hazy laziness that unfurled something warm and yearning inside of her. She pretended to be asleep, because she was halfway there, still trying, and didn't want him jostling her back from all the progress she'd made. And, even though he was just drunk enough to not notice that she wasn't truly unconscious, it did nothing to keep him quiet.

"I'm sorry," he slurred in a raspy whisper. The afflicted thickness of his voice wrapped around her like a silky pelt of fur, prickling her senses to life and catching her breath in her throat with something close to anxiety.

The girl grabbed ahold of a sliver of lingering resolve and used it to slit her eyes open a bit. Looking up through her lashes, she found him slumped in his chair in the murky dimness of the corner by the window. He cradled a half-gone bottle of tequila and was staring at her with bloodshot crystalline eyes, bleary and unfocused. He didn't seem to notice that she was now looking back at him.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, licking his lips with a slowness she understood all too well. "I tried to be the hero. I wanted to be The Good Guy . . . for a little while . . . for you. I tried. And I failed. I failed miserably," he confessed, shaking his head at himself and giving a bitter choke of laughter that held not a trace of humor. He went quiet for a second and she nearly gave herself away as the startling rush of urgency knocked into her. It was almost breathtaking against the dulled state she now lived in. "That's just not me," he admitted in a voice so low she barely heard. "I'm not that guy. I'm just . . . It doesn't even matter." He paused just long enough to upend the bottle and gulp down a fresh swig of liquor. "But I am sorry I didn't protect you. More than you'll ever know."

: : :

That afternoon, the Turning Point arrived. The girl had spent the last hours thinking over what he'd inadvertently confided, obsessing over his words and their deeper meaning, while the vampire surfed fuzzy channels on the old television atop the dresser and worked on sobering himself up. The rain was dying down, also. If it was for good or this was only another break in the storm was still unknown. But it didn't matter. She couldn't go on like this for another hour. She just _couldn't_.

The first step was to get out of bed. It took a few minutes after she'd decided before she could actually get her body to obey her. But once she did, when she rolled onto her stomach and crawled to her feet, she found that the rest was almost easy.

The vampire's eyes followed her from his spot in the corner as she moved toward the bathroom, taking one small step at a time. The clothes she'd peeled off earlier were left piled by the bed, but the bra and underwear she'd kept on clung to her skin, making her feel trapped and bound. Without a word, she slipped inside and fell back against the closed door. She let her eyes fall again and concentrated on breathing in and out while she moved to unclasp her bra and draw it down her arms. It fell to the floor with a hushed _thump_. She bent at the waist and dragged the grimy underwear down her legs then stepped out of them. The shower stall was two feet away and it took her a full sixty seconds to cross it. Once the spray of the showerhead burnt her fingertips to the touch, the girl slid the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside, one foot at a time.

After some while, it felt as if all the residue of this last week was being washed away. With a startling sense of understanding, the girl turned her face up into the assault of water and took in a deep breath. _I can do this._

: : :

The vampire felt a frisson of hope ripple through him as he watched the girl struggle stubbornly from bed and shut herself in the washroom. The sound of the shower accompanied the steadying of her heartbeat and the deepening of her breathing pattern, speaking of relief. It urged him to his feet.

While she was locked away, he swiftly gathered the trash that was scattered around the room and set the sealed garbage bag outside on the doorstep for housekeeping. Then he stripped the bedding and replaced it with the supply of clean linens that were folded on a shelf in the small alcove of a closet by the washroom door. After he set the duffel full of clothes for her at the foot of the bed — plainly in view — he pulled the shirt that stunk of alcohol over his head and replaced it with a fresh button-down. Once done, he stood and roved his eyes over his surroundings, falling into a frozen moment of vacancy, until the sound of the shower shutting off startled him from his reverie.

By the time the door swung open and a cloud of steam expelled, he was propped on the edge of the bed — back against the headboard, feet stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed — flipping through local channels on the TV. She stepped into the room with a white bathing towel wrapped around her body and another one draped from her hand as she scrunched it through the sodden locks of her hair. By sheer force of will, he managed to keep his eyes from straying to her as he held his breath, _waiting_.

"Where are we?" she asked, stepping carefully as she made her way toward the bed, one arm hooked under her cloth-covered breasts to keep the towel in place, hugging herself, gnawing at her lower lip.

The vampire swallowed past the lump in his throat and schooled his features for her. "You and I, my dear, are in Florence."

The girl's face scrunched. "Italy?"

"South Carolina."

"Oh." She took a deep breath then let it out. "Right," she whispered, then turned and sunk down to the edge of the bed, still toweling her long locks. Her eyes fixated on a murky marking along the wall across from her. The silence in the room was enunciated by the pitter-patter drizzle of downpour outside.

There was so much packed into that quiet, so much space wedged between them, crowding her, filling the room, so much so that she felt like she couldn't breathe. Names and Faces were all a jumble in her mind, bleeding into one another until all were indecipherable. It took her breath away every time she let it in. Her chest felt too tight, her heart too large, her head too clouded. She just wanted to _scream_.

"_Hey_," he cut in, drawing a solid hand up the expanse of her back when she started to tip forward. "Come on," he murmured, his mouth against the shell of her ear as she hung her head. "Knock it off."

Breathless, the girl leapt to her feet, spinning to face him, pulling away from his touch, his precarious proximity. She felt close to implosion, as if she might shatter at any given moment, and not even a world's worth of superglue would be capable of piecing her back together again.

"What do we do now?" she asked him earnestly, though it came out a pained gasp. When his bright eyes pierced into her, her gaze followed the fall of the towel that had slipped from her hands. It pooled on the floor by her foot. The other was still tied tight around her like a snug bodice, arousing her fresh claustrophobic tendencies.

"You want me to have the answers?" There was something indiscernible in his quiet voice, something that pulled her head up, something that made her peer through a shield of wet ropes to find those bright eyes. The intensity there, the _meaning_ in those eyes lodged in her throat, piercing through the layers of suffocation that had a grip on her heart. Only it wasn't to free her. It was to lay on a weight of his own, another pressure that threatened to break her back. The weight of the world on her trembling shoulders, that's what it felt like to the girl. She was hanging on by a thread, an evanescent string that was fraying by the second.

Was this her salvation?

"_Yes_," she said, slowly, honestly, painstakingly, though her voice broke mid syllable and her face threatened to crumble for a splitting second. It was that moment — when she hovered over the precipice, nearly falling in, nearly losing it all under that unimaginable pressure — that the girl stumbled across a sliver of resolve. The flickering flame of a candlewick, but it was _something_. "Yes."

The vampire gave her a long look, stripping past the safeguards and baring the inner workings. Then he sighed and nodded his head, just once. "Okay," he told her. "We can't stay here. We'll need to get moving soon."

The girl sucked in a shuddery breath, brow furrowing. She bit down on the inside of her lip until the coppery tang of blood hit her tongue. It helped. "Moving where? Where will we go?"

At that, he was silent. And she realized . . . he didn't know any more than she did. He was making it up along the way. There was no master plan. There was nothing to do. _How do you pick up the pieces when there are none left?_

"We don't have to have all of the answers right now," he promised, but it was nothing more than white noise to her now. "We'll know what to do when it's time."

If only she had faith. It wasn't that she never believed in a God's existence. But had she ever had reason to think it mattered, one way or the other? No higher power had ever offered her a hand to clasp, a light to lead her from the darkness. She was on her own, always had been. She was . . . She was . . . It wasn't until his hand landed on her shoulder that she realized she'd been backing away, that she'd been shaking her head back and forth, from side to side, over and over and over again. That she'd started hyperventilating. And it wasn't until her back collided with the wall that she stilled.

"_Hey_," he called again, softer than a whisper, bending at the knee to lower himself enough so that he was looking up into her downturned face, striving for the attention of her fluttering eyes.

"I can't."

"Look at me," he demanded, cradling her face in his hands as she struggled for breath. "_Look_ at _me_."

"I . . . can't . . . I can't . . . I can't . . ." The panic seized her, strangling her, asphyxiating her. Her legs buckled, slipping out from under her. As she started to slide, he hooked his hands under her arms and spun her away from the wall to set her down on the foot of the bed. He was knelt down before her a second later, his hands encompassing the trembling curves of her knees as she gasped for air. Her shining hazel eyes were wide, her lips parted, her face pale. "I can't," she cried, pressing her hands into her face as it crumbled.

"Yes," he said, taking her face in his hands again and forcing her to meet his unwavering gaze. "Yes, you can."

The girl shook her head, gripping at his wrists with all her strength, her mouth falling open in a soundless scream and her body tipping forward at the waist until her seizing chest was pressed to her thighs.

"This was your choice," he whispered. "This was your choice."

_My choice,_ she thought dazedly. _This was my choice. I could still change my mind. All I have to do is ask._ But she wouldn't. She knew full well that she wouldn't. Still, she had to get a grip. This _freaking out_ thing wasn't going to get her anywhere but five steps backward. With that in mind, she lifted herself upright and found his crystalline eyes boring into her.

"_Breathe_," he said, stroking slender fingers through her saturated hair, across her cheeks. "Just breathe."

The girl nodded, doing as he asked.

"That's it." He moved inward, kneeling between her legs, pressing into her. The contact was grounding, his gaze steadier than her heartbeat. "Thatta girl, just take it slow."

Calm now, dulled again, a heavy shadow of grim regret fell over her. "_Why did you have to save me?_"

The anger came swift and harrowing. In the wake of it, the vampire found himself jerking her face down to him and crushing her mouth with his own in a hungry assault. Something he shouldn't have done. Something he wanted to take back the second her lips opened against his with a soft sob. Her hand splayed against his chest, urging him back. When he released her and pulled away with rigid motions, he looked up to find a pained grimace marring her soft features. And it would have broken his heart had he not shut that part of himself down.

"Stop being so morbid," he ordered in his best disaffected voice. "What's done is done." He sounded indifferent, if not a bit hard. Inside, though, he was kicking himself. But when he started to rise from the floor, her hand closed over his forearm, stilling him. His eyes dropped down to the slender fingers that gripped him. "It's okay," he reassured softly, slipping from her grasp. But when he moved to turn, she was up on her feet and sidestepping into his path. He started to say something else, needing to preempt another breakdown, but was startled into shock when she stretched onto her toes and brushed her mouth against his chin in a feathery touch of cold comfort.

The girl's gaze slid up to find him staring down at her. The crease in his brow concerned, the intensity in his eyes conflicted. She arched a sliver more and closed the distance between their mouths, reigniting that spark of sensation she'd felt when he'd assaulted her. They hesitated that way for a long moment, mouths pressed imperceptibly together as they stood. Because he was frozen, holding so strenuously to his control, wading through the turmoil, the indecision, the _want_ versus the _warning_. But then her tentative little hands smoothed up his chest to curve over the apex of his neck, his shoulders, dusting along the fringes of his dark hair, and he felt her quiver. The dam broke then and there.

He couldn't have stopped himself from taking her in his arms and forcing her up against the nearest wall. At least, he thought he couldn't have. But somehow, miraculously, he managed to. In fact, once he wound his arms around her and deepened the kiss — bending her backwards at a slight curve, feeling the press of her body as it molded into his, the shudder she gave him, the urgent parting of her lips, the fierce twisting of her fingers in his hair — it was all too easy to sink in her warmth.

But the gentle caress, the hesitant leaning, the dizzying way his mouth worked softly over hers, practically begging permission instead of just taking what he wanted — all of that wasn't what she'd been looking for. All of that just made her want to _cry_. The pressure in her chest was rebuilding with every reverent stroke of his hands, every restrained brush of his lips, until she _knew_ that any second now she was going to lose it. She was going to _shatter_. This wasn't what she'd asked for . . . wasn't what she needed. This was so much more than she could take. Why did he have to seem so loving? Like this was what he'd been waiting for all along, like this mattered, like this _meant_ something when there was nothing left. How could this matter at all? How could anything? Her life was nothing but ash.

His hand had just burrowed into her damp hair when she ripped herself away from him with a violent jerk. "Can't," she gasped, shaking her head, backing toward the door. "_Can't_ . . . I . . . I, um, need . . . need air." And then, unable to spare him even one glance, she turned and she ran.

The vampire stood, dazed, catching his breath, and watched her escape through the door and out into the pouring rainstorm. Her only protection against the onslaught was that damned bath towel. This was — unexpected was the word — not in the brochure. Had she gone around the bend? What did she think she was doing, running off like that? Unclothed, in the rain, in the middle of nowhere — this was not good.

"Get back here, you lunatic." He darted out onto the walkway that wrapped around the cluster of cabins and found her already yards away. She'd made it out from under the eaves of the path and was stumbling through the slick mud as she struggled to breathe, the sleeting rain showering over her, sticking, rolling thousands of droplets across her goose flesh.

"Get off me," she yelled over the pounding of the rainfall, ripping her arm from his grasp when he tried to catch her. "I just need to breathe. I can't think—"

With a hazy shake of her head, she quieted. Down a slope of mud, she nearly careened. He reached out again, but she warded him off, righting herself. She kept going, slipping and sliding, and he let her. He followed beside her for a ways, waiting. The impact of the rainwater was sharp and substantial, relentlessly assailing them. Droplets clung to their eyelashes, blurring their vision. He kept blinking, shaking the sodden hair from his eyes, working to keep his sight on her clear. She didn't care. She just kept going, and going, until her chest could rise and fall in an even rhythm that didn't make her feel as if her heart needed to be torn from her chest.

Eventually, he managed to herd her into semi-circling so her direction was aimed back toward the motel. There was a long stretch of nothingness out here, surrounding them. The storm only made it worse, even more isolated. The interstate had been inactive for the last two days. No cars, no passersby at all. The wide expanse of gravel that served as the lodge's parking lot carried two cars — the one he'd acquired and the manager's. There was nowhere to go, no one to find, and even if there had been, it wasn't going to help her. So she just kept walking, letting the cold seep into her bones, the rain drench her soul. She tried to keep her path straight and narrow despite the world that seemed to be spiraling around her, like the unstable panning of a camera that had snatched away her panorama and left her with jostling remnants of the reality around her.

Or maybe that was just the dizziness that had swept over her. Maybe that was what was making her knees shaky, making her body feel feeble, making her worry it would give out on her at any moment. And why shouldn't it? Everything else had failed her. She'd failed. Why shouldn't her body be the next to give way? It was, after all, only but a lingering physical vessel, a superficial pretext. Maybe she had no need for it anymore.

"Please listen to reason," he implored quietly from beside her. His gaze was straight ahead, eyelashes bunched and water running across his vision in blurry streaks. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, the only way he was able to resist the instinctive urge to reach out for her.

He had an image of tossing the uncooperative young'un over his shoulder and dragging her back into the room before she caught pneumonia. It was tempting, if only something deeper weren't holding him back. She was reminiscent of a sleek panther in a cage, pacing with the building craze of captivity, liable to erupt at any moment. If he interfered so directly as to go caveman on her, it'd undoubtedly carry backlash. No, he'd have to take a more subtle approach, despite the strain on his patience.

"You're going to get sick."

She barely heard him over the loud pelting of the rainfall. But she did, and it jerked her out of her head. Sure enough, she realized she was shivering almost violently. The cold of the water that assailed her was icy and breathtaking. They weren't far from the sidewalk's overhang that ran along the cabins, the logical reprieve from the storm. But she just couldn't stomach going back into that den of misery. She needed to be out here below the thunderclouds, even with the mud caking between her toes and the sharp needlelike impact of rain against her exposed flesh and the stinging wind. She could breathe out here. There was energy around her here. In there, the world was as still and vacant as her insides.

"Did you hear me?" he asked. "How long is this going to last? Where have you got to go? There's nothing out here."

Like the sudden crush of a feral wave, the girl spun on him. The aimless rage that swept over her found a target, and she felt herself ignite against him. This was his fault, after all. If he'd only have done what he wanted to do, she wouldn't be here. She'd be with _them_. She wouldn't be so lost, imprisoned amidst the wasteland her essence had become. "Why are you even still here?" she shouted over the clash of thunder, rounding on him. The one time in his entire immortal existence that he hadn't acted self-servingly, it had to be _now_, when it hurt her the most. "You don't owe me anything! I'm not your responsibility! So just go!"

_Screw patience_, he thought and snatched her by the arms before she could shove punishingly past him. Once he had her facing him again, he took her by the chin, gripping her jaw and forcing her to meet his steely gaze. "I'm not going anywhere without you," he warned in a dangerous voice that crept through her wall of hatred and gave her an uncertain moment's pause. "Because whether you like it or not, it's just us now—you and me, you got that?"

"You're lying," she admitted in a broken voice, letting her eyes drop from the intrusive feel of his stare. The rain streaking down her face masked the tears that fell, because she was weeping again, like some pathetic creature she'd never thought of becoming. "You'll leave me."

The vampire's drenched brow drew down in a deep crease. "Don't presume to know what I will or won't do, precious." His fingers tightened their grasp on the girl, even as she began going limp in his hold.

She shook her head at him, stubborn as ever. "I know you will. Why should you stay?"

The vampire let out a sudden growl of frustration, jostling her once to emphasize his irritation. "Don't you get it?"

"_No_!" she yelled, ripping herself from his grasp. "I don't. I don't understand! Why won't you just go? Get out of here! Leave me alone." She twirled on her heel, clutching at the sodden towel as it threatened to abandon her.

"Is that what you want?" he demanded, catching up to her, cutting her off at the pass. "Is that what you want me to do? To just walk away? To never see me again? Is that what will make this better?" he prodded mercilessly, sidestepping every time she tried to get around him, every time she tried to escape. "Or is that just what you think you deserve? Or maybe, even, that's what you think I'll do? Even if you beg me to stay," he added in a whisper, slanting close, peering at her with his impossibly bright and painfully clear gaze, running tingles of feeling up her spine, making her want to fall to her knees and sob, maybe hold herself a bit, maybe try to keep in all that was spilling out of her through that gaping hole in her chest.

Looking up at him through sticky ropes of hair, the girl grew bold with the flame of anger, and cradled the sliver of calm that came with it. "Why would you stay with me? You kept me alive. You've fulfilled your promise to your brother — to yourself. You've done the 'right' thing. Your job is complete. Good for you. But you and I are two very strange souls. Even if circumstances were different, what would be the point? Would you drag me along with you as you roam from city to city, bed to bed, drinking the blood of innocent loners, and stacking up enemies, leaving a trail of bodies behind you?"

"It doesn't have to be that way," he argued. "I can—"

"What? You can change? Be different?" she cut in, feeling cruel and relishing in it. She'd take whatever muted passion she could get. "Maybe you can. But why? Are you going to keep me with you? Protect me? Stick by my side 'til the day I die?" she mocked. Then, when she tried again, he let her shove past him, clipping him with her shoulder as she went.

Without turning around, he stopped her. "Would that be so terrible?"

The girl halted, going rigid under the pelt of rain. Lightning crackled through the swirling gray sky. Just like that, she felt the urge to sob sweep over her once again. Shaking her head, she dragged her hands over her face and up through her hair, forcing it back. Then she took in a deep breath, readying herself. For what, she had no idea. "Maybe not," she admitted in a small voice, his back to hers. "But it doesn't sound too promising."

He spun at that. "Why?"

Though she could feel the burn of his eyes on her, the sullen girl couldn't bring herself to turn to face him. "Because you'll get tired of playing babysitter, that's why. And when that happens, where will I be left?"

"It won't happen."

"You don't know that," she argued fiercely, whirling around at last to find him closer than she'd expected. "Even if you mean it right now . . . You _don't_ know."

Resolve forming over his dark features, the vampire stepped through a puddle of mud to cradle her face in his hands. He lifted her head upward for his scrutiny, pressing his fingertips obstinately into the icy tendrils of the hair that framed her cheekbones. As if maybe, just maybe, he could hold on tightly enough to get her to understand. Or never let her go. Again, he found himself wishing his brother were here. He'd know what to do with her. He'd know how to fix things — _how to fix her_. Or at least what to say or do to ease the despair that she so relentlessly reeked of. As it was, all _this_ vampire could think of was . . . distraction. Maybe, if he could distract her for long enough, the day would come that the pain eased on its own without her notice. That . . . would be ideal.

"Please," she whispered. Barely enough energy was there to make it into a recognizable sound. She tilted her head, turning her cheek into his palm, biting her lip, her eyelids growing heavier. It was a miracle she was still standing, since there wasn't an ounce of strength left in her legs. His hands holding her still were the only thing keeping her from lying down in the mud and waiting to die. She was just so _exhausted_. "Please. Just . . ."

"I won't leave," he picked up when her fading voice left off. "I can't."

The girl shut her eyes and tried to pull her face from his grasp. He wouldn't let her go. "Please . . ."

"Did it ever occur to you that you're not the only one afraid of being left out in the cold? I've spent a hundred and sixty years on my own. But I've never been all alone. I've always had somewhere to come home to."

"You still do," she snapped. "I'm the one without a home. I'm the one with nowhere to go, nothing to do!"

"I don't have a home, not really. Not without you."

But she didn't hear him. She was too entangled with her own breakdown. "I'm only seventeen for God's sake. I haven't even got a high school diploma. I've got no parents, no aunt, no uncle, no brother! The man I love is _gone_. My family is _gone_! My home is _gone_! My life died with them! Why couldn't you have just let me go? Why did you do this to me? Why—"

"_Calm down_," he tried, persevering against her wild thrashing as she struggled to get away from him. When that failed, she turned her violence outward and began shoving at him, hitting him, screaming at him, lashing out with all her irrational might.

"What am I supposed to do?" she demanded brokenly, sagging against him, clutching his shirt so fiercely that her knuckles trembled. "_Who's going to take care of me now_?" she whimpered.

"Shh," he hushed, holding her up against him. Once she was breathing again, he drew a hand down her drenched mane and used it to pull her head up to face him. Cupping her jaw, he scrubbed a ringed finger across her cheek and willed into her some of the steadying cool he possessed. "The truth is that you've never needed anyone to take care of you. You've always been more than capable of doing that yourself."

"But not like this," she protested, shaking her head and shutting her eyes again, sniffing, still fisting her hands in his sopping shirt like an infant with its mother. Like a lifeline. The knots in her chest were crushing her. "Not by myself."

"Why aren't you hearing me?" he snapped, gripping the sides of her head again, gritting his teeth with the frustration of restraint. "I'm here with you. I'm not going anywhere. _I'll_ take care of you."

"Words," she murmured to herself, her eyes dulling again even as his pierced through her.

"I've never meant anything more in my life," he swore. And it was the truest claim he could have made. It unfurled that familiar longing inside of her. All she knew was that it was better than the cold emptiness. It was hopeful.

Licking her lips, the girl's eyes fluttered to his mouth then back up to his gaze, the startling crystalline of aquamarine intensity. The edges of her awareness began to fray, and desperation rose up so suddenly that it left her once again breathless. She reached up, curled her hands tentatively around his wrists, and drew them away from her face. She took a careful step backward, standing tall against the rain.

"Then show me," she challenged, tilting her chin at him, still quivering on the inside. "Show me."

The imploring look in her eyes, the one that spoke of hopelessness and distrust and resignation and need, was all the encouragement the vampire required. Forgetting the quelling pace of humanity, he blurred through the downpour, sweeping her along with him as he crossed the muddy incline and reached the long row of cabins, pinning her to the peeling weatherboard just as lightning lit up the murky world around them.

Her body held off the ground by his own, her arms falling to drape over his shoulders, around his neck, her fingers twisting in his sodden hair, all accompanied the impact. The sudden lash of fervency that enveloped her was like a rush of water for dehydration, or maybe for a drowning man. It rose up to crash into his own need, licking through him with grateful strokes of urgency. Of begging and pleading. Of a mindless realization that this could be her salvation if she let it. It wouldn't repair the damage. Nothing could ever be undone. But it could help her breathe. If she let it, it could help her live. The question was . . . did she _want_ to live?

: : :

_I__f you ever begin to love me, won't you let me know?_ It was the question running through his mind as the vampire drew lazy circles across the sleeping girl's shoulder. Her slumber now wasn't the same as before, not comatose or exhausting, but actual rest instead. Because of the release of tension, he was sure. The lack of movement of her eyes beneath those closed lids told him, though, to be quiet. Her sleep was light. She'd wake given any sort of disturbance.

They had returned to the forsaken motel room. The storm still raged with no sign of lessening. The door was propped open with a wastebasket against the forceful winds. And the drapes on the window were left apart for the world. Not that there was anyone there to see them. The only break in this lonely wasteland was the motel's manager, who had holed up in the front office at the worst of the storm. Besides, it was the only way the girl could stand coming inside again.

He watched her sleep, staring uninterruptedly at the caramel-hued beauty of her face. He guessed the old saying was true. _There is always some beauty within the heart of tragedy. You only have to look with open eyes to know that it is there. _Well, he'd found his. This peculiar young girl put the color in his world. From the moment they met, she was this kaleidoscope splash breaking apart what once had been a century of uninterrupted gray. There was nothing else to it. He'd given up everything he'd always thought he'd wanted for this one, safekeeping her above all else.

For a moment there, for a stretch of days that seemed frighteningly endless, he'd been terrified at the idea that it was all for nothing. The days after that blood-soaked night were dark and lifeless. He'd watched her exist motionlessly until he was sure she'd never live again. But then she'd spoken.

"_Why did you save me?"_ she'd asked. And he'd come to find that what came after that wasn't important. It'd been worth it. It'd gotten him here . . . with her. And he promised himself this, here and now, that he would devote himself to making life better for her. He wouldn't give up, not until he could look into those deep golden eyes of hers and see that spark that once burned so bright, that fire, that passion for nothing and everything all at once.

Why? Because he was in love with her, or because she made him feel alive just by glancing his way after a century and a half of simply _existing_. Mostly, though, because he'd shoved her up against the side of that building and he'd kissed her senseless. Because he'd taken her back to this haven of wallowing and let that fire between them catapult into a rushed and desperate consummation of an age worth of simmering desire, growing loyalty, ever-deepening care.

When he brought her over the edge, the girl had broken down and sobbed, trembling and soaking his neck with her stream of tears. Because when she broke, she clung to him. Because she let him hold her tighter than he'd ever wanted to hold onto anything in all his considerable years. Or simply because he was her man, and that was the way it was going to be.

Now if only he could convince her to cooperate.

Thinking that way, the vampire let out a heavy sigh and lowered his head to the pillow they shared. It was going to be a long and strenuous journey for that. But he had no doubt of his inevitable succession. If he was persistent enough, stubborn enough, he'd convince her eventually. He'd weather through . . . as long as she determined to keep going . . . which, admittedly, was up for debate at present time. But he had a good feeling.

: : :

The girl opened her eyes a little less than an hour later. He was still staring, motionless as he savored the feel of her body lying along his, twisted up in the fresh sheets, damp from the rain they'd brought in with them.

"I have to go back," she told him. Solemn. Scared. Resolute.

The vampire's hand lingered over her stomach, basking in the evanescent rise and fall of her breathing, the steady pump of her heartbeat in his ears, the quickening of her pulse as she left the last remnants of sleep behind. "I was afraid you'd say that."

There were things that needed to be taken care of. Answers to be found. People to consult. Ashes to gather. He believed it would be good for her. It would facilitate the process of moving on. But that did not mean he had to like it. He knew what she'd find, and he knew there would be no comfort there. Yet, how could he tell her? How could he do anything but take her, and hold her carefully, ready to pick up the pieces when she shattered again?

: : :

Sunrise of Day Five saw the vampire and his girl climbing into the silver car that sat in the makeshift parking lot outside their motel room. The thunderstorm had dissipated through the night, letting a mere pitter-pattering drizzle remain. The whipping winds had dulled, turning the air stuffy and chilled. They would have to suffer through the stagnant morning to get to that freshness of post-storm bloom, or so he'd told her when she'd wrinkled her nose up at the smog in her throat. Rays of golden sunshine streaked between the gray coating of clouds above, providing bursts of brightness. It was a suitable allegory for what lied ahead of them.

Sitting in the passenger seat, the girl turned her face to the window and forced out a shaky breath, feeling her lungs shudder. She was quivering and tense with anxiety. The pounding of her heart against her ribcage felt claustrophobic. "I don't think I can do this," she confessed in mildly panicky tones.

The vampire twisted up one corner of his mouth, smiling to himself, and pulled his hand away from the gearshift to slip it into her own. Clasping their palms around one another, he drew their hands down to rest on the seat between them. "You can."

"You don't know that," she argued, unknowingly squeezing the circulation from his fingers.

Before she could run back inside and hide away, though, he pulled out onto the desolate interstate and pressed his foot to the accelerator, bringing them into the soothing monotony of high speeds as they raced down the long stretch of pavement. Miles of uninterrupted flatlands splayed before them, a panorama of wheat fields and pine trees. The familiarity of this mundane piece of world began to lull her nearly immediately.

Accepting defeat, the girl let out a long sigh and sat back. "I'm not promising anything," she told him, leaning her head against the seat and staring out the side window as acres swished by. "It's probably pointless to even try."

"Or _not_ pointless," he added. "You don't know."

"Neither do you."

"Let's find out then, shall we?"

"It's not like there's a more appealing option."

Her vampire glanced sidelong, smiling softly, almost wistfully even. Looking at her now, there was one thing that he knew for certain. They would be okay, eventually.

**Finis**


End file.
